I wait in the arc
of the half-open
car door while you
smoke a cigarette.
Your foam cup
steams away
on the roof
like a prop
from a cop film
and I privately hope
you'll forget it's there
when you pull away.
The wind buffets
its side; each gust
makes a kissing
sound as the
bottom lip
the paint.
Seven chimneys
surround this
wasteland; thick,
steady cooling towers
and thin flaking pipes, all
smoke. I watch your outline
in silhouette as you become
the eighth stack, sucking
the fumes in greedily,
then releasing the

from Frayed published by Indigo Dreams

copyright Natalie Scott 2016

Thread 1

image by Kim McDermottroe

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